I first stumbled upon Kahlil Gibran’s poignant poem “On Children” during my teenage years. I can still hear my father’s voice softly reciting, “Your children are not your children,” among other lines, perhaps reflecting on the bittersweet nature of watching his own kids grow up. Over two decades later, and now a mother myself with three children, I find myself revisiting this poem with fresh eyes. My eldest is now 16, and it amazes me how Gibran, who never had kids, could encapsulate such profound truths.
Typically, I’m skeptical of parenting insights from those without children, but this poem transcends that bias. Gibran’s lack of personal experience may have afforded him the clarity to understand realities that are often clouded by our emotions as parents. My reflections on “On Children” resonate deeply:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
That opening line hits hard, doesn’t it? As parents, we feel an instinctive bond—biologically, emotionally, and spiritually—with our children. We may have chosen to bring them into this world, but we certainly don’t own them. They are not merely extensions of us; they are unique individuals shaped by forces beyond our control—God, nature, or however you choose to define it.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
This realization forces me to confront my own impermanence. Each child is born with their own identity and purpose, meant to navigate a future we cannot predict. We can offer guidance and love, but we cannot impose our beliefs or thoughts on them. It’s crucial that they forge their own paths, separate from ours.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
As parents, we know all too well that time is relentless. We can’t pause it, and certainly can’t rewind it. The more we wish for the past, the quicker time seems to slip away. We might yearn to etch our influence into our children’s lives, but they are here to create their own legacies, intertwined with ours yet distinct.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
As my oldest prepares to venture into the world, I feel that bending. This is why many parents say that parenting doesn’t necessarily get easier; the closer we get to letting go, the more we stretch. But as painful as it may be, this is a necessary part of growth—both for us and for them.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
This serves as a comforting reminder to embrace joy amid the struggle, knowing that both we, as the bow, and our children, as the arrows, are cherished by a higher power.
Our children. They are vibrant, distinct beings with their own destinies, and our time together is fleeting. They will carry the torch of humanity forward, even if we can’t always see the path they’ll take.
In essence, our children are not really ours at all.
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Summary:
Kahlil Gibran’s poem “On Children” offers profound insights into the nature of parenting, emphasizing that our children are not possessions but unique individuals destined to forge their own paths. As parents, we must learn to let go and allow them to navigate their futures while finding joy in the moments we share.